


The Art of Wayfinding

by chaos rose (cathouse_mary)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Slash, kinkiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-15
Updated: 2005-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-12 00:39:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathouse_mary/pseuds/chaos%20rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coming out of the dark is never easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Wayfinding

**Author's Note:**

> With deep appreciation for my betas R and M, and for Gina's (endless) patience. Takes place some unspecified time after HBP.

 

 _**Merry Smutmas,[](http://leni-jess.livejournal.com/profile)[ **leni_jess**](http://leni-jess.livejournal.com/)!** _

 

### To: [](http://leni-jess.livejournal.com/profile)[**leni_jess**](http://leni-jess.livejournal.com/)  
From: [](http://chaos-rose.livejournal.com/profile)[**chaos_rose**](http://chaos-rose.livejournal.com/)

Title: The Art of Wayfinding  
Rating: Very much Adults Only.  
Pairing: Lucius/Severus.  
Disclaimer: Sorry, borrowing only.  
Warnings: Porn – as if you did not know that already – with bondage, mention of bloodplay and piercing, hurt/comfort, whipping, marks, coerced consent, oral and anal sex.  
Author's notes: With deep appreciation for my betas R and M, and for Gina's (endless) patience. Takes place some unspecified time after HBP.

  
For as long as humans have travelled, the art of finding one's way has been a vital skill. Whether to read the night sky, or know what river flows which way, or to find the stable path, to be able to find one's way meant that the traveller would arrive at his destination alive – conceivably not unscathed by the hazards of travel, and likely late, but alive and at least mostly whole.

That "mostly whole," Severus thought bleakly, being the trick of it.

Perhaps, he mused, his life since leaving his father's house had been less a path between points than an ancient's voyage upon the sea – pushed by wind, pulled by current, left becalmed under burning sun, starved and thirsty, desperate for the surety of land under one's feet and bitter about having left safe harbour in the first place.

Not that he'd known many harbours in his life, much less safe ones.

Now, in the aftermath of the latest storm, he had the illusion of safety. More importantly, he had the years and experience to know it for an illusion, and what dangers the illusion covered.

The regard of the Dark Lord was a dangerous thing. The fellow-feeling of one half-blood to another, from circumstances that were superficially similar but in truth were worlds apart was alluring, but ultimately false. To a young Severus, however, it had been the validation that he'd craved all his life, and been denied from all quarters. Voldemort, a powerful man to whom even the stunning Lucius Malfoy bent neck and knee was a half-blood – just like Severus. That regard allowed him to learn the Dark Arts as he pleased, under the guidance of the most powerful wizard since Grindelwald, to have his ear, his trust, his deepest confidence – and something else that Severus enjoyed even more.

Unquestioned power.

And, oh, how the 'faithful' had hated it.

The faith of most of the Death Eaters, Severus mused, was the faith of parasites – so long as they could fatten and thrive upon the blood of their host, all was well. It was as far as they could stretch their limited and atrophied minds to believe. During the First Rise, their faith was that of the full belly and the overflowing cup – glutted on fear, drinking deeply and indiscriminately of cruelties brute or refined, and stuffed with perversions less for the discerning hedonist than the sniggering schoolboy. And like parasites, they fled the cooling corpse of their host once he no longer nourished him. Their hate of Potter was not hate for a halfblood's taint – it was rage at the loss of their feast.

Severus observed them as a young man in much the same manner in which he had as a young child observed the movements and behaviours of corbies – birds that were at once both birds of prey and base scavengers. His 'compatriots' were clever, but not intelligent; they could mimic, but not truly act. But for Bella, they were easily led, and but for Lucius, they could not lead.

Lucius. How Severus studied him. It gave him as much pleasure as the rare texts by Ashaminakhete, or the finding of a bloodstone made by the hand of Dmitrei Rataev syn Okinfova. One should like to study beautiful things, after all, and Lucius was beautiful. Severus observed him closely, his mannerisms and quirks, weighing a strength here against a weakness there. Eventually, Severus' observations became most intimate indeed – the mottled flush of Lucius' belly as Severus took his well-formed sex in his mouth, the dilation of his pupils to nearly obscure the iris when his lust ran high, and the way he moaned low in his chest before orgasm.

In the long interment in the purgatory of Hogwarts, under the rule of a man more ruthless than Tom Riddle ever fancied to become, Severus dreamt of it as the becalmed dream of a sweetly cooling breeze. But that breeze became a tempest, tearing him from his carefully considered course and setting him into familiar, yet infinitely more dangerous waters.

He gave Draco his aid when he faltered in a task grown men feared to try, he gave Narcissa her beloved son's life, and he gave the Dark Lord his savour of victory as Dumbledore was entombed. And he asked for a reward, knowing that their Lord expected it, and neither Draco nor Narcissa would gainsay it – at least not with more than token protest. It was, after all, Lucius' hubris and arrogant certainty that he was the master and not the servant that had brought them to this. They would hardly protest if Severus collected a little forfeit so long as he kept their secrets. It was not as if this was something Lucius would not understand, though it was deeply unlikely that he would appreciate it.

Severus reached for his glass of whisky, tipping it back against his thin lips and savouring the amber warmth it kindled behind his breastbone. His time with Lucius as a young man had given him an appreciation for the sensual pleasures, and now the Dark Lord indulged Severus as his most trusted of deputies. Yet, despite his position, he was careful never to indulge too openly, to ask for more than… well… what he had now.

Lucius, freed of Azkaban, and chained instead to a wall in the cellar vault made for a truly heart-warming holiday.

Lucius, however, did not feel that way at all. He'd made it clear – at length, and in words more suited to a Knockturn Alley guttersnipe – just how poor an opinion he held of his wife, child, Lord, erstwhile compatriots, and lastly but most venomously, Severus. The mighty - and Lucius had certainly considered himself to be such - never took a humbling well.

As affectionate as his regard for Lucius might be, Severus thought Lucius was not a voyager, but perhaps one who sent out voyagers to face the tempests and hazards of the seas. It would be interesting, and possibly very satisfying, to teach his dear friend just what manner of harbour the four winds had cast him into.

And, Severus thought with a touch of pity, how to find his way from there.

Setting his glass on the table, Severus spoke into the darkened room. "Wibble."

A soft puff of air caressed his cheek as the house elf manifested. "Master Severus?"

There was a vague satisfaction in the honorific; the half-blood Prince was also the last Prince. "Has he eaten?"

"He has, Master Severus – the soup, fish, bread, and the wine." The elf paused, and then ventured timidly, "He said that the wine tasted like goat piss."

Severus could not restrain a quirk of his lips; it appeared that Lucius was in a slightly better humour.

He stood, dismissing the creature with instructions that he was not to be disturbed.

A bookshelf turned on a counterweight, allowing Severus to exit the room without going out the door he'd come in by. It was something he appreciated, for he had learned all to his regret that having only one exit from either room or situation was something to be avoided. Especially in times like these, when his allies were as much of a danger to him as his enemies.

It pleased him that whomever designed this home was aware of such things – there were boltholes and passages hidden behind bookshelves, under fireplaces. Narrow corridors between walls gave into secret rooms, or allowed views into various rooms of the house. Even innocent objects like the Staffordshire spaniels on the mantle in the library were clever concealments for charms that would record conversations, while the silk carpets recorded movements. Severus, however, had ordered every portrait in the place taken down and burned – he would countenance no chance of a straying two-dimensional personality fragment running to carry tales of Dumbledore's murderer.

The air warmed with his descent, heated by the massive brick hearth below stairs, and the passage came to an end in the back of wine cellar. Severus swung the upright rack out into the room and stepped through, allowing it to close behind him without even a clinking of bottles. He had much to ponder, for Lucius was being difficult, and unless that troublesome tendency to believe he was in charge was controlled, it could easily prove to be Severus' undoing. His favoured status was cemented with the Dark Lord, for none had proven more useful than he – but Severus was aware that a dead man was of use to none but a necromancer, and there were other halfbloods and purebloods waiting, watching, and weighing.

Severus needed Lucius; the purebloods still considered him their leader, failures and miscalculations notwithstanding. Severus' standing with their Lord was the cause of many plots – often inept, certainly hazardous, and at times outright comical, but distracting when Severus most needed to focus.

Lucius needed Severus, too – though he didn't think so – to survive his master's displeasure.

It was Severus' intent to bring Lucius to understand this.

And a job of work it looked to be. The bending of another human being was fraught with hazard, much like any ancient's journey. One crucial misstep and the entire thing might well end in catastrophe - hence his current treatment of Lucius.

Upon being brought here, Severus had given him rooms above, freedom of movement – but restricted him from going out of doors, and had not provided him with a wand. Lucius' ire had been considerable, but did not abate when Severus removed privileges one by one. Lucius had failed to understand at whose hand privilege came.

In a way, it was entirely understandable. Privilege for Lucius was a state of being, not earned and not given – he had been born to it as much as to his white-blond hair. He was a Malfoy, the embodiment of privilege – it was what he believed and had always been told.

The door opened to his touch and for a moment, Severus was puzzled as Lucius was nowhere in evidence.

Until he looked up, finding his friend held firmly against the low ceiling by his bedding – another escape attempt.

"Lucius." Severus swallowed his amusement at Lucius' indignant glare. Lucius was not a stupid man, only an especially obdurate one.

"Severus." Lucius' reply was a mimic of his own tone; they could have been meeting at a public floo.

"I could," Severus mused, "of course, remove another privilege. Perhaps instead of having the elves cook for you, I might have you fed… hmm… takeaway curries and-"

Severus was interrupted, and he listened politely until Lucius began to repeat himself – it seemed that time in Azkaban had caused Lucius' usually excellent vocabulary to deteriorate. Raising his voice to classroom-quelling level, Severus spoke with trenchant scorn. "You seem to be labouring under several misapprehensions, Lucius. The first being that you are the one in charge." A flick of his wand and Lucius' lips moved soundlessly. "Please understand that our Lord did not give you over to my custody as a sign of favour to you. Had he any less regard for me, you'd be rotting alive in Azkaban even now. You bungled, Lucius, badly. And not just once."

Lucius' lips tightened as if around bitter medicine.

"No, Lucius, you set your own ambitions for yourself above our Lord's wishes. Your wife and son almost paid the forfeit for your arrogance and our Lord's anger." Severus smiled at Lucius' rising choler, adding with the softest of stings, "Can you wonder that they did not protest overmuch that our Lord gave you to me?"

He wiped Lucius' spittle from his cheek with a sigh. Lucius was not a stupid man, but his stubbornness and pride were now brittle things to Severus' practised eye. Severus brushed his fingertips against Lucius' bound form, appreciating as he always had the flow of chest to belly, belly to abdomen, abdomen to thigh. Azkaban had not withered Lucius, but it had chipped away at the softness of flesh accumulated at well-laden tables and at ease in plush-stuffed chairs, leaving him as whippet-lean.

However angry he might be, Lucius was still Lucius and Severus knew him very well, in all the ways one male might know another. Lucius had taught him as well, the fine lines between pleasure and pain, fear and desire. Over the months of their earliest association Severus learned that welts could burn like passionate kisses, hair-fine needles could cause tears of ecstasy, and drops of blood falling on his tongue could spoil him for wine. Lucius' stiffening sex ridged the rough wool of the charmed blanket as Severus continued to stroke his covered form with his fingertips.

Yes, Lucius was still Lucius.

Severus gestured and the blanket shifted, wrapping Lucius in a new configuration, lowering him so that his feet did not quite touch the floor, a murmured _divestio_ baring him for Severus' appreciation. He'd always been fascinated by the pale perfection of Lucius' skin, the smoothness of it under his fingertips, and the taste…

Lucius' sigh was silent, his eyes slipping shut as Severus took a long, savouring lick. The taste of salt, the inherent sweetness of human skin, the slight bitterness of sweat – but more pleasing than that, the shift of muscles, the contraction of skin, the thrum of his captive's response under his lips. Whatever Lucius' thoughts might be, his sex had a will of its own, rising to meet Severus' parted lips, Lucius' whole body twitching as Severus suckled him lightly, teasingly.

To be the one in power, yet to give pleasure instead of taking it, this was one of his preferences learned from Lucius. How many times had Severus been the helpless one, afire for any drop or crumb of pleasure that Lucius might grant him? His own sex stood iron hard as he savoured the thought with Lucius' cock in his mouth. Increasing his suction, moving his mouth up and down the shaft, gently squeezing Lucius' balls; Severus used all the skill he'd learned so long ago, gauging his aptitude in the silent gasps, the tension of the smooth plane of Lucius' abdomen, the tight-curled toes of Lucius' bare feet.

Then, he stopped, looking up at Lucius' flushed face, his eyes heavy-lidded, and his thin-lipped mouth forming a silent moan. Even in pleasure, Lucius was lazy – liking others to make the effort for him. Far from those first beginnings, Severus now saw how fumbling those years had been. Lucius had been going on guesswork and fantasy when Severus first submitted to him – now Severus had mastered the arts he once thought Lucius knew.

"Not that easy, Lucius," Severus whispered, jolting him back to the little room and his diminished circumstances.

Lucius summoned a glare, but it was pleasure-hazed and wavering as Severus turned away from him.

"For your mistakes, I had to make an Unbreakable Vow to your wife to aid your all-too-unwilling son, and have my Bond held by your dear raving lunatic sister-in-law." Severus turned again to glare at him in turn, his voice rising steadily by the word. "Can you imagine, you overweening idiot, all the plans thrown into chaos?" Still no repentance but there was a flicker of… perhaps… discomfiture - easy to miss, unless one was looking for it. Severus chose to press the point home. "Dumbledore dead, yes, but Slytherin House in the hands of Slughorn, as good as a blood traitor to save his fat arse. Potter is now free to move about unobserved with Granger and Weasley, as none of our brethren are in the Order. We have no chance to spy upon them from the Ministry, and now your son is a wanted murderer for a crime that I, bound by a vow I never should have needed to make, had to commit!"

At least, Severus thought, Lucius had the grace to look shamed – well he ought, if only for the inconvenience he'd caused. Severus rewarded him with a lingering caress of his cock, teasing his foreskin, cupping his balls as he considered his next play.

"You must earn your favours now, Lucius, and your pleasure – or I must give you back," Severus smiled, knowing it never reached his eyes, "to him." He felt the thought strike home in Lucius as a Cruciatus might; his whole body trembled under it, his eyes going wide as he stared at Severus in horror.

For some moments their eyes met, and in Lucius' unprotected mind Severus could see all he feared laid bare.

"I can protect you, Lucius," he whispered, fingers trailing down Lucius' arm, "and I am the only one who will. Can you imagine yourself in Bella's hands? Or the Carrows? The others blame you, you know, for our Lord's heavy hand." He moved closer with each word until his lips caressed the cup of Lucius' ear. "But only if you're very, very good."

Lucius licked his lips. Face pale and eyes darting, he mouthed a single word.

" _Please_?"

Severus smiled, touching his wand to Lucius' throat. "Speak."

"What… must I do?" There was no arrogance, only the grimmest determination.

The answer was simplicity itself and sweet on Severus' tongue. "Only obey."

Lucius snarled at that, but it was less anger than petulance and perhaps a little revulsion at how far and quickly he had fallen. Failure, as Severus had reason to know, was a bitter draught.

"It is not so onerous, Lucius." Severus resumed his fingertip exploration of Lucius' sternum and collarbones. "You showed me once, remember?"

"Times were different, Severus-" and for a moment, Lucius looked forlorn, "-and so were we."

"Ah, but does a man truly change, dear friend? Or like the serpents we embrace, do we merely shed our skin as we grow?" Severus pressed his lips over the quickening beat of Lucius' carotid artery, ghosting them over the line of his jaw before bringing his mouth down in a demanding kiss. For a moment, Lucius struggled, arms flexing to reach and hold, hands to touch. Severus gave him nothing but the kiss, bruising and hungry, and the demand for entrance.

And Lucius gave.

For long minutes, Severus held him in the kiss, pulling Lucius close and pressing against him. He wanted Lucius to know his desire, to feel the hard cock under his robes, to allow his captive to imagine only one ending to the night.

It was wrenching to tear his mouth away, intoxicating to see Lucius' lips kiss-bruised and bitten. "Will you obey?"

The answer was spoken with as much misgiving as desire. "I… yes. I will."

"You will obey?" Severus pressed the word forward with his inflection. "Say it, Lucius, or we stop right here."

Lucius' mouth puckered as if to spit, then relaxed, the words coming on a sigh. "I will… obey."

"I am going to release you, and you will stand, arms at your sides." At Lucius' nod, Severus allowed the blanket to release him, bare feet touching cold stone. For a moment, Lucius' arms twitched, moving as if to cover himself before Severus' upraised eyebrow stopped him. "An auspicious start."

Severus' fingers worked at his cravat, freeing the black silk from his throat as he walked behind Lucius, slipping the cloth over his eyes and tying it snugly. The tension that such a simple act evoked in Lucius' shoulders was inspiring, and a simple touch on the arm made him jolt in place.

"Would you like to sleep in a bed, Lucius?"

He could almost feel the responses running through Lucius' thoughts, being weighed and discarded. "I would." A pause. "Please."

Oh, very good.

"Then you must do one thing and one thing only – without speaking, you must follow my voice wherever it leads. One word, and you'll not even have a pallet, although," Severus allowed, "I will leave you a blanket."

Lucius stiffened, chin coming up, mouth opening and…

"Do I need to remind you that I mean what I say?"

… it shut with a snap.

"Follow, Lucius." Severus spoke, walking toward the door, "Follow me and you'll have a bed under you tonight. The house elf irons the linen with verbena, did you notice? I know yours used lavender water, but one cannot have everything…"

Out of the room, down the hall to the back staircase, Severus spoke of inconsequentialities. The evening meal, the weather, the deplorable state of the library, stuffed - if one could believe it – with Windswept Witchery romance novels. Lucius followed up the stairs, traversing the rooms blindfolded and mother-naked, bereft of even a blanket. Severus led him to his own suite without a fingertip's touch, allowing his voice to stroke and cozen or to sting and spur.

The door shut behind them with only a whisper of air to stir the heavy brocade curtains on the bed and windows. Shelves filled with his own books lined the walls, and the windows looked out upon the bucolic vista of a heath two centuries gone. The room was well insulated from sound as well as from magic, and its location within the house varied, with only Severus being able to find it unerringly.

Lucius stood on the silk Hereke carpet with every muscle tight, his face below the blindfold pinched in anger. Even if the only eyes to see him were Severus' own, he had been humiliated. Yet, Severus noted that his toes moved on the smooth pile of the carpet, that he half turned to the heat of the blaze in the grate of the marble-mantled fireplace. Could sensation win over Lucius' sticky pride? Severus was aching in the most basic of ways to find out.

" _Accio_ cravat." The silk unknotted and slipped from Lucius' eyes, darting back to Severus' upraised hand. "Welcome, Lucius."

Lucius, however, did not look welcomed, but uncomfortable – and for one of the few times to Severus' memory, uncertain. Severus did not give him time to ponder and instead guided him to the bed, which had already been turned down. Lucius' pale skin flushed a little as Severus positioned him in the centre of the serpent-carved four-poster, and Severus could feel the drag of tension in his muscles. Before the night was out, he hoped to have them both significantly more relaxed.

"Lignum Vince."

The carved scales of the serpents that were twined about the bedposts blurred into motion, and Lucius yelped in surprise as the as the wood seized his wrists, binding them to the headboard. Severus stepped back, surveying his handiwork with pleasure. It was gratifying when the painstaking effort of building a new charm paid off with such dramatic results.

Too bad that Lucius was not in the mood to appreciate them as well. His shoulders and arms flexed and pulled at the encircling wood, testing and finally easing when it became apparent that such efforts were futile. Severus calmly moved about the room, retrieving items from the dresser, from the wardrobe, and from his nightstand, a particular book, aware from the silence that Lucius was watching him closely, inventorying the objects Severus set out as precisely as the ingredients for a potion.

The silence felt, at least to Severus, a little alarmed. Perhaps especially when Severus opened a small embossed leather case of fine silver instruments – needles, clamps, and blades at rest against crimson velvet. The anticipation wound itself sweetly from his aching sex and up his spine, the tension something heady and intoxicating. Lucius' eyes tracked him as he unbuttoned his coat and waistcoat, hanging them neatly in the wardrobe before undoing the cuffs of his shirt and rolling up his sleeves. Eventually he would be as bare as Lucius, but not yet – not while Lucius was so aware of his own nudity while Severus remained clothed.

"You've a busy night planned, Severus?" Lucius' voice was light, but carried an edge of fearful anticipation, his eyes darting for a fraction of a second to the neatly arranged objects in easy reach of the bed.

Severus nodded, picking up a leather tawse and drawing it across his palm. "Indeed, Lucius." He gestured to the crop, the cane, and the stone phalli standing in neat ranks. "I want to remember tonight just as much as you will. Let us begin?"

And he did begin as Lucius had begun with him so long ago; kisses and caresses that left lips and skin tingling and flushed. Fingers that stroked, probed, followed by his mouth, his tongue. Lucius alternately melted under his touch or fought and cursed, his lust rising until his sex lay flat against his belly, twitching at Severus' every touch on his body.

Slowly, deliberately, but with his own need a molten heat in his veins, Severus applied himself to the feast before him – always holding Lucius back from his release. The oiled stone phalli came first to hand, opening Lucius inexorably, stretching him to the extent that a Carne Alley whore would find remarkable. The first violations brought pleas for mercy that were met with a slow stroking of Lucius' sex, curses of blistering ferocity met with ten full-armed strokes of the tawse.

He soothed the welts on Lucius' perfect skin with his tongue, blowing cool air on the angry stripes, as Lucius pressed his face into the pillow. "Shh, you see? I can take them away, too." Whispered words over the heated flesh, and a stripe flared red only to fade to the barest tinge of pink.

Slowly, Severus felt Lucius' resistance not crumble, but ebb as he wove pain into pleasure. The kiss of the crop entangled with the fevered press of their lips, trading the hardness of stone for the iron heat of his own flesh. His shirt hung open, his trousers unbuttoned and opened, his sex jutting out like some rude Bacchus' as he pressed the head to Lucius mouth.

"Suck me." His sallow fingers tangling in the shorn blond hair, pulling Lucius to him. It took all his self-control, everything Severus had to watch, to not to tip his head back and close his eyes in ecstasy as the heat of Lucius' mouth took him in, wet and warm and just bloody perfect. "That's… ahh… that's right… earn it… take it…"

Severus could feel his pleasure building, a tight coil in the small of his back, the heat at the root of his cock. With a groan he tightened his hand in Lucius' hair, pulling back when his body wanted to thrust forward, thrust in deep and fast until…

He trembled at the cusp, breathing ragged as he eased out of Lucius' too-perfect mouth. "I knew… you were… a man… of… many talents… Lucius. I had… no idea… that cocksucking… was one of them…"

"I have many hidden qualities, Severus. It never pays to underestimate me." A gleam of challenge sparked in the silver of Lucius' eyes. "I almost had you there."

Severus caught his breath, reaching for the phial of oil on the nightstand, "And I, Lucius, am about to have you…" The touch of his own slick hand made his breath catch, his blood race as he oiled himself, his hips bucking involuntarily at the sensation. "Do you want to be had face-up, or face down?"

Lucius' scowl did not match the eager twitch of his sex. "I have a choice?"

Severus smiled as the carved serpents blurred and struck again, lashing around Lucius' thighs, pulling them back and open. "Actually, no, you don't."

Lucius' indignant squawk tapered into a moan as Severus stroked his balls, fingers tracing the base of the phallus still within him, then easing it out. Yes, easing in, oh yes much better than his mouth, hotter and tighter, with the play of muscles around the base of Severus' cock as he pushed deep. Severus gritted his teeth, hands bracing on the upturned backs of Lucius' thighs as he fought the urge to loose every rein and give in to the spurring heat coiled in him. The tension in the small of his back added an impetus to his thrusts that grew despite the best concentration of his will.

No, there was no way, not with Lucius moaning under him for dammit more harder you bastard. The hammer of Severus' heartbeat, the roar of his blood rising on the heat as he reached down and took Lucius' cock in hand, matching thrust to stroke six a dozen and his thrusts were as hard as he'd wished and dreamed they'd be as his pleasure took him…

Lucius shuddered under him in the throes of his own near-silent pleasure, his seed streaking his belly and chest, his breathless gasps and muffled moans trailing off into something like a satisfied sigh.

"Eum libera," Severus whispered, and the serpents released their hold. He and Lucius sank into the bed, breathing deeply in their mutual embrace as the serpents coiled around their bedposts, immobile once more.

For a long time, they lay together as they had not for many years, heartbeats slowing, bodies twined. There were no declarations of sentiment, they simply fit themselves together as they had many years ago in another bed, in another life, when the courses they'd charted had seemed sure and clear.

~*~

End


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